Like Death Warmed Over
by starry34
Summary: Rikku's untimely death leaves her stranded in the middle of Sanubia Desert at the hands of Bahamut. But she's not alone... "All humans die, Rikku. Some die old, some young, but very few before their time." Rated T for language. AU.
1. Death

**A/N: **This fic is dedicated to **Kyasarin X**. Thank you a million times over for all your encouragement and support. You're the best!

Disclaimer: I own no part of SquareEnix or FFX.

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**Like Death Warmed Over**

**Chapter 1  
**

Sin was gone; Tidus too. Yuna was kicking some serious ass and taking charge, even more so than before Spira's poster girl for hope. Wakka and Lulu were (miraculously) engaged, Kimahri had moved on to bigger and better Ronso business, and Auron was… well, Auron was dead. Turned out he had been all along, actually, and to those of us putting our lives back together after the pilgrimage, he was exhibiting no signs of becoming anything but.

This was important to note because when I saw him in Sanubia, two years after his Sending, it was the resounding solidarity of this fact that informed me something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

It was two years after Yunie's pilgrimage ended, and I was back in Bikanel, surprisingly _not_ making myself useful in putting the finishing touches on the rebuild of Home. Despite the shiny and high-tech nature of it all, it was just too simple for me.

If only I'd stuck to simple.

A lot of stories start out that way, y'know – if only I hadn't done this or had done that, blah, blah, blah. But I've yet to hear another with an ending like mine. Makes sense, I guess. They say the dead don't tell stories and all that.

If only, I might still be living.

I was building a new machina; this one was revolutionary. Had to do with intercontinental communication – pretty essential when you figured there still weren't enough airships to go around and half of Spira's most efficient mode of transport – and thus, message delivery – involved ships and chocobos. We had spherecasts, sure, but we could only reach where technology existed. Places like Besaid were just off the map.

This was going to be big – no, it was going to be fracking _enormous_, and I was pumped. The day I died, I was so close to finishing the first prototype I could feel the excitement, the adrenaline coursing through my veins as I snapped the cover onto the parts. My fingers dexterously typed "TEST" on the keypad and I held my breath as I set the coordinates for message delivery. It was time. If all had gone well, it would have rocketed from the window I stood at out into the desert. But nothing happened when I pressed the power switch, and I was perplexed. Assuming that my wiring was faulty, I pulled off the cover to have a look, and the thing went haywire, flying crookedly around the room. Cursing under my breath, I ran after it, trying to turn it off, when it flew at full force towards one of the air vents attached to the ceiling, bounced off and came crashing to the ground with a whir. I swore in Al Bhed and flipped the power switch off, just in case, when the wrenching sound of metal breaking away from metal distracted me. I looked up just in time to see an enormous piece of the air duct drop from the ceiling above me, and then there was pain.

In all honesty, I don't remember much about my death. I'm sure the earth-shattering noise of the whole ordeal probably brought half of Home running, but if I'd been able to register that, I probably would have lived. There was pain, a lot of wet and then a peaceful flooded feeling that had to be death. It wasn't all that enjoyable. Not because it was death, and I was too young to die or any of that, but because the next thing I knew I was back in Bevelle in the Chamber of the Fayth and Bahamut was staring me in the face.

The kid version, I mean. I would have been infinitely more affected had it been the unholy monster aeon.

The most annoying thing about Bahamut was the way he refused to answer my questions. Wouldn't even tell me how I got there, or if I was dead, or just in limbo. Bahamut had plans of his own, and he wasn't about to let me in on them, even though I felt quite sure I was a key component of those plans. So, without so much as an explanatory word, I found myself deposited on the sands of Sanubia, the Yevon-forsaken voice of that fayth echoing in my head, "Your story begins here."


	2. Sanubia

**A/N:** If I use Al Bhed at all, it will be sparse and mostly representative of cursing. Use your imagination if you're not as big of a geek as I am and don't know Al Bhed swear words.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing.

* * *

**Like Death Warmed Over**

**Chapter 2  
**

I was about to tell his omnipresent self that he could go fuck, when I just by chance happened to look down, and screeched.

I. Was. A. Child.

And then, conveniently, because of course, the fayth could not do so little as to offer me _no_ help whatsoever, I realized that I was not alone. In fact, my sole company was no other than Auron – at least, I thought it was Auron, but he was about twenty-five and looked positively confused.

I'm sure it was the last time I'll ever see him with such a perplexed expression, but it was almost worth dying just to see it. I would have laughed, had it been any other circumstances, but I was pretty preoccupied with the fact that Auron was here, Auron was dead, I… was dead.

Call me slow, I know we acknowledged this fact ages ago, but death is not an easy situation to swallow.

"What the hell just happened…" I stared at him blankly, but he offered no explanation. "I'm… I'm dead."

"Yes," he said simply, and I found the affirmation slightly comforting, if for no other reason than it gave me some assurance as to my… condition.

"You're dead."

"Yes."

"I'm really…?"

"Yes, Rikku, you are dead."

"But this isn't the Farplane…?"

There was an edge of annoyance to his voice as he answered, "This is, as it appears, Bikanel."

I ignored the tone as I was still dealing with the facts. "That's what thought."

"Do you have any idea why you are here?" younger Auron asked, and I was sure I did not.

"Because I'm dead…"

Clearly, this tested his patience, because he snapped at me. "You're going to have to get used to that fact, because it's not going to change."

I scowled at him. "You don't have to be so mean about it! I _just_ died!"

"Yes. You died. This is not the Farplane; we are on Bikanel Island. I am dead. Did I miss anything, or do you need more clarification?"

Despite this being, bar none, one of the longest sentences I had heard him speak to date, I stomped my foot. "I'm not _twelve_, Auron!"

His eyes travelled over my body in an ironic gesture and I could practically hear the "Oh, really?" that had to be going through his mind. I growled and quickly crossed, then uncrossed my arms, realizing that the action did nothing to dispel the idea that I was, indeed, pre-teenaged.

"So, how do I fix this, then?" I asked as tolerantly as possible, biting the inside of my cheek.

He raised an eyebrow. "I believe that is your problem to solve," he said, aggravatingly, and I resisted the urge to kick him.

"These are pyreflies, aren't they?" My tone was edgy with annoyance, but I held it conversation-casual. When he didn't answer, I snapped at him. "Hey, Auron! Mr. Legendary Guardian! I'm talkin' to you! What, you think just 'cause you're dead you're exempt from common politeness?" It struck me that this statement was ridiculous, but me being me, I ran with it. "Well, you're not. Know how I know that?" I didn't; I'd pulled it out of my ass. I wasn't used to being dead yet – apparently the rules were a little different. So I improvised in my anger, shouting whatever came to mind at him. "'I know it 'cause the fayth stuck you here on this Yevon-forsaken island with my preteen corpse! You must've done a real number to piss them off that badly, Auron. I never heard of revenge that went _beyond_ the Farplane."

It didn't even make sense, but it sure got his blood pressure up. He grabbed me by the collar of my orange tank top and gave me what would have been the most intimidating glare I had ever received, if I hadn't already been dead and having no reason to fear it. This being the case, I ignored the adrenaline that had already begun to ebb away and simply rolled my eyes at him. "What are you going to do, Auron? We're both _dead_." Now _I_ was telling _him_. Role-reversal; it was ironic.

He let go and I smoothed the wrinkles out of my shirt, rather pointlessly lamenting that if I'd thought the Rikku he'd known was flat-chested, it was nothing compared to the two backs I was now sporting. I vaguely wondered how old I was, but there was no way to say for sure and I gave up. "Soooo," I said, nodding in a bored way as I looked around. "Bikanel, huh?"

He didn't offer so much as a grunt. "Strange," I commented, and, his manners really being about as bad as I'd accused, he didn't ask why. "Well, makes sense for me. Al Bhed have a lot of weird ideas about where the soul goes after death. Figures we'd all end up back here. I guess the souls of the dead really can hear us praying." Auron remained stony quiet, and I clapped my hands and spun around to look at him. "But why you?"

I was prepared to come up with some more inspiring dialogue, but Auron surprised me. "That's what I'd like to know," he muttered, not exactly to me, but it was a start.

"Oh, goody, then we're on the same page," I said in a very businesslike way, being of the mind that neither of us were about to be struck with any divine inspiration. I scanned the horizons, and, seeing nothing but miles of sand, sighed. Clearly, the fayth were very adamant about the dead figuring out their own purpose – well, on their own. "Oh, for Yevon's sake." I dropped to my knees, stared at the sky, and, feeling entirely foolish, prayed quite irreverently. "Hey, Bahamut. Figure you stuck me and the grouch here for a reason, but I'm not coming up with anything." I left out that Auron was currently being more useless than a Yevonite newspaper in the hands of Brother. "So, if you wanna drop outta the sky and give us a hint or something, I'd um, appreciate it lots. Yep."

The only sounds that could be heard were air over the dunes and Auron scoffing. I dropped my hands to my bare thighs and sighed defeatedly. "You know what, you big meanie, you're not helping at all, so you can shut your trap, thanks." I stood up. _Thanks a _vilgehk_ lot,Bahamut,_ I thought, and gave Auron a glare that looked more like a pout. "Seriously, can you fix this?" I pointed to my younger physique.

"_I_ can't," he said simply, and I was about to give him an earful for his arrogance when he added, "You may be able to change your appearance if you envision yourself differently, however."

I frowned. "Like how the images react to memories on the Farplane?" I questioned, and he nodded. "Worth a shot," I replied with a shrug, and wished I'd actually been to the Farplane to test that strategy. Closing my eyes, I imagined myself as I was before I'd died, seventeen, bikini-clad and sufficiently developed enough to suggest that I was a female.

Absolutely nothing happened. I remained as shrimpy and prepubescent as I'd ever been. _"Tysh ed,"_ I whined, crossing my arms and sticking out my lower lip. Auron said nothing, but his expression was along the lines of exasperated. "Well, I'm sorry, mister, but clearly it is not as easy for me as it is for you," I reprimanded him.

He completely failed to react to my admonishment, stating simply, "I said you _may_ be able to do it. Clearly, the fayth have other ideas."

I'd known Bahamut had stuck me here, but that turning me back to my awkward days was part of some sick plan of his was more than I cared to hear, frankly, and I decided I preferred rude silence. "Can you change _your_self?" I challenged bitterly, and was strangely comforted by the grimace that passed his face.

"So you can't, either? Bahamut, you sick vilg-" I gave the sky a very violent look before turning my attention back to Auron. "What do you suggest, then?" I asked him civilly as I could in light of the circumstances, beginning to understand why my earlier comments about being punished by the fayth had gotten under his skin.

He didn't answer, and I shook my head. "Well, as entertaining as this has been, I've got better things to do with eternity," I said, and started walking in the direction I knew would take me to Home. There was no real significance behind this decision – it was simply direction in the midst of circumstances that seemed to offer no solutions of their own. If I'd only known what I was walking into…

Ah, there I go again.


	3. Welcome Home

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

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**Like Death Warmed Over**

**Chapter 3**

Home was about a three or four day walk from where we'd been dumped, by my estimations, and I'd be wasting your time if I went into detail about those next few days. It was a very bland affair, overall, in which almost nothing of consequence occurred. Auron, after about ten minutes, realized that, like it or not, the fayth were obviously set on tying his afterlife to mine, and followed after me with a sulky attitude in tow. Okay, so it wasn't as much sulky as it was irritated, but IMO, irritated _is_ Auron's sulky; he simply can't pull off the emo enough to make the latter believable. I did not share this enlightened thought with him; I found it unlikely he would appreciate the wisdom. So we did even less talking than I could have anticipated – that _was_ a feat – and since we were dead, not even the fiends gave us the time of day.

I did, however, find lots of time to consider what I was actually doing. It struck me that I didn't know what year it was – that was, if we were even in the Spira I'd known – and I didn't know whether I'd actually find Home on the other end of the journey. For all I knew, we could have been transported to before it ever existed, or worse, right after the Guado arrived here. That thought made me shiver, and I did my best to suppress the idea. Witnessing the attack once was bad enough; twice would have been unbearable. I still had no insight as to why I looked the way I did, though I suppose that could have been expected in light of how helpful the fayth had been thus far.

To his credit, Auron was very good about not asking any questions as to why we were headed in this particular direction (this was a blessing, as there was no solid reason), and did not do anything insensitive like asking how I had died. Upon further speculation, I'm not sure why I assumed he would as he'd never been Mr. Personal in all the time I'd known him, but my death had been a very sudden and traumatic event and I knew that if it had been me in his position I'd have been wanting to know all the gory details. I passed it off as apathy; in retrospect, I realize it was consideration. It was something I'd never given much thought to, but Auron had never discussed _his_ death with us on the pilgrimage. Now that we had that particular event in common, I understood why. Death is probably the most personal thing we ever experience, as much of a paradox it may seem. I mean, coming face-to-face with your own mortality… no wonder Auron never brought it up.

Then again, his death was also a lot grander than mine. Auron's was full of symbolism and passion and anger, whereas mine consisted of a lot of stupidity and slow reaction time. He probably figured there was no way my death could compare and just didn't want to make me feel bad about it. At least that was what I told myself.

Well, anyway, I'd passed the last couple of days contemplating these philosophical thoughts, and I finally caught sight of an Al Bhed sign for Home and was quite jittery with anticipation. I knew now that the place existed; what condition it would be in was another story entirely. I must have looked as nervous as I felt because Auron kept eyeballing me warily like he expected me to light a firecracker under his seat or something.

"You don't know _when_… this is, do ya?" I asked, my voice betraying more fear than I'd intended.

He almost looked apologetic as he answered, "I don't."

I knew he knew what I was worrying over, and it made me feel slightly sick so I didn't say any more. My thoughts didn't stop running in violent and dangerous circles until we approached the dune from which we'd all watched in horror on the pilgrimage as my city burned.

This Home was fine; it was perfect, but it was strange. The thing about the Al Bhed is that we don't keep things as they are for long, and what I was looking at gave me a sense of déjà vu like nothing I'd ever experienced before. It wasn't that I _felt_ I'd been there before – I _had_ been there before. I was struck by a rush of mixed emotions; nostalgia, something of a surreal sensation, joy and fear. Auron was staring at me, and I did what I do best to cover up my nerves: started talking. "I haven't seen machina like this in ages, Auron," I commented. "I think we've gone back in time."

He nodded in agreement. "I'm not an expert on the Al Bhed, but these look older than the ones we saw on the pilgrimage."

"They are," I marveled, kneeling to examining a disabled Scouter unit. "Yevon, I haven't seen one of these since I was about eleven or twelve." My head snapped up as I looked at Auron with wide eyes. "How old do I look, Auron?" I asked tentatively, and there was understanding in his expression as he nodded.

"No more than twelve," he confirmed, and my lips parted as I stared at the machine pieces with newfound meaning.

"This is my past… but why...?" I mused. "Auron, do you think I exist… in there, too?" I asked, gesturing at the entrance to the place I'd called Home back then.

"I honestly do not know, Rikku," he said, and I was impressed at the cool way he was dealing with this. After all, delving firsthand into my childhood probably wasn't his idea of a happily-ever-after.

"Well, we're gonna have to find out, I guess," I decided, since about all we could do in our current situation was curse the fayth and build one epic sand castle. "How to explain you, though… Bahamut, a little help here would be greatly appreciated!"

He ignored me, of course, and I swore rather violently and crossed my arms. "Well, that's just peachy. Damn fayth are sick, I swear to Yevon. Probably do stuff like this for a laugh – after a thousand years I guess even they get sick of staring at Shiva... damnit!"

A voice that did not belong to Auron stopped my tyrade in its tracks. "Rikku? What the _ramm_ are you doing out here?"

It was Pops, I knew it was, and I winced, turning around with a big fake grin plastered on my face. "Hiya, Pops."

He gave me a scrutinizing glare, and I knew from experience that I was in trouble. I did not seem to be in any immediate danger, however; Pops had shifted his attention to Auron and looked positively livid. "You!" he hollered, and I stared, unsure of how to diffuse my father's rage. It was worse perhaps because I _realized_ how bad the situation looked, not actually being the roughly twelve years I appeared. Hell, who was I kidding – Cid would have thrown a fit if I'd been sneaking around with anyone within the _realms_ of 20-something up until the day I'd died – which was either less than a week ago or five years in the future, I wasn't sure which. Had to admit though, despite the tomato-red face and vein that was threatening to pop out of his forehead in his angry-protective-father mode, Pops was looking pretty damn good. I'd forgotten how young he looked before-

Oh, Yevon, it couldn't be.

I knew I should have been intervening, trying to convince Pops that this was anything but what he was thinking, and I was vaguely aware of a lot of yelling on his part and defensive-sounding answers coming from Auron that weren't likely to do anything but further enrage Cid, but my head was spinning. The only thing I could reasonably comprehend was that my mother had to be alive.

"POPS!" I screamed it so loudly that even he heard it over his hollering.

"Rikku, get your ass in there. You're in serious trouble," he growled at me in Al Bhed. "Just wait 'til I tell your mother…"

It was.

"Mom…" I couldn't breathe, suddenly, and it shouldn't have mattered because I was _dead_, for Yevon's sake, but I was lightheaded, choking. I gasped for air, and it came, too fast and shallow as my vision swam. I saw my father's outline somewhere in my line of sight – up or down, I couldn't tell – and I heard millions of voices in my head, calling my name before I was weightless, and my mind went empty as death.


	4. Strange Reunion

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**Like Death Warmed Over**

**Chapter 4**

I was not exactly pleased to see Bahamut. The idea of answers, however, was enticing. Truthfully, I was furious with the fayth. I'd been deposited rudely in the middle of Bikanel before I'd even had time to catch my breath (metaphorically speaking), let alone come to terms with the fact that I was dead. Not so much as a second thought as to how I felt about the whole thing - not a word of explanation, either – but the one that was I was really feeling was the complete lack of sympathy. I mean, the least you could do for a girl in my situation was utter a few kind words for a happy afterlife. And now Bahamut seemed to think he could just drop in on me any time that suited him. Well, I had news for him: that didn't suit _me_, mister, and I had no problem relaying this information.

To say that Bahamut was apathetic to my sentiments would be a vast understatement; I could not identify any visible sign that he had so much as heard me. This infuriated me even further, but nothing I shouted at him merited so much as a blink of his childish, soul-staring eyes, and I eventually gave up.

"So you finally decided it might be an opportune time to tell me what the hell I'm doing here?" I questioned, glaring at him.

"My concept of time is one so intricately complex that you could not be expected to understand the criticality of the moments I allot to you," he responded, and I felt my jaw drop. Before I could come up with a cutting retort, he continued, "In short, however, yes – that is why I am here, sans the vulgarity."

I crossed my arms with a glare, but said nothing. "So why, then? I demand some quality explanation."

He chuckled. "You will learn what I consider pertinent to disclose," he stated, and I glowered back so fervently that I lamented neither of us being alive to test whether looks really could kill. "You are here, Rikku, because your altered presence will, if you are able to complete your task, essentially amend a grave mistake that should not have transpired when it did."

I pondered that for a few seconds, translating his odd choice of words into normal jargon. "You want me to fix what you screwed up?" I finally reiterated, my tone acidic with disbelief and anger.

"I did not have anything to do with it," he replied bitterly. "That, perhaps, was the problem."

"Cryptic much?" I asked sarcastically, having no idea what he was getting at.

"Your mission here is simple enough," he stated, ignoring my remark. "You will need to retrieve an object that was lost here during this time."

I stared. "That's it? An _'object?'_ That's all the direction you're going to give me? I won't. I _refuse_. You're making me relive part of my past, a part where _my mother is alive_. Can you even comprehend the situation you're putting me in? You oughta already know she dies, you insensitive ass of a fayth!"

He nodded. "Soon, in fact. You never got to say goodbye." The last statement seemed disconnected, somehow, as if it had just occurred to him, but I was livid.

"You've got no right-" I screamed, but before I could attempt to strangle his immortal mirage, the world was fading away again and my consciousness with it. "I hate you," I whispered as I fell into a deep sleep.

_Have faith, Rikku._

Drop dead, Bahamut.

…I was going to have to remove death from my list of colloquialisms.

* * *

I awoke to a cool towel on my forehead in my twelve-year-old bedroom. It was weird seeing all the stuff I used to have. There were actually some neat looking spheres I was going to have to examine later, along with the typical stuff any preteen girl would decorate their room with. Posters of Al Bhed rock bands, pictures of friends and copies of _Spiran Girl_ magazine littered the floor untidily. I sat up, muttering Al Bhed curses at the fayth as I climbed out of bed and ran into my mom in the doorway.

"When did your mouth get so dirty?" she asked disapprovingly, and I realized I'd forgotten how stern she could look.

"Oh-Yevon-tysh-ed-Mom."

She raised an eyebrow at my language. "We need to talk, Rikku."

I had to admit, it wasn't the way I would have pictured our reunion, but it was what the blasted fayth had given me and I would just have to make it work.

"I know this looks weird, but you gotta believe me, Mom."

"I don't know what to believe, honestly, Rikku. That man out there says he washed up on shore after his ship was attacked by Sin. But as to why he's here, I'm in the dark. This was supposed to be your first chance to explore around the island. I know you, Rikku, and you'd fight tooth and nail to go on and send back just about anybody else."

I was suddenly struck by what Bahamut had meant when he'd said my mother would die "soon." It was one of the few straightforward statements I could credit him with, but I had no desire to award him any sort of praise given what I had just discovered. A wave of nausea passed over me; I realized why there had been no sign of my real twelve-year-old self around Home. The real me, as far as I could see, probably _was_ excavating for machina parts – and would soon receive the terrifying news that her mother was dead. As I puzzled all this out, I suddenly became aware that the silence had been hanging in the air too long. Quickly, I tried to remember something about that mission that didn't relate to finding that out. I couldn't recall much. "I did," I answered tentatively. "Keyakku found Auron when we got to the Oasis. He didn't look too hot, so we gave 'im a few Al Bhed potions and perked him up a little. Nobody knew what we should do with him, but we didn't have enough, uh, jetskis hanging out up there to take him anywhere, and he didn't seem to be up to hanging on the back of one so they uh, told me to bring 'im back and Pops could… figure it out. I told Brother he could do it himself, but he-" I was suddenly struck with inspiration. "-blackmailed me into it, and threatened to tell Buddy what I wrote in my diary about him."

I _had_ had an embarrassing crush on one of my brother's best friends. Brother's knowledge of that fact died hard, and I was constantly reminded of it for years to come.

"I knew you liked that boy," she said triumphantly before turning serious again. "But _really?_"

"Yep," I answered, but the definitive and annoying sense of uncertainty hung in the air. I wondered whether she was about to tell me I was the worst liar in Spira and demand that I explain why Auron was really there. I really hoped not. I didn't have any better ideas.

"Hm," she said. "Kind of a strange turn of events, isn't it?"

I didn't say anything, shifting uncomfortably. She put her hand on my forehead, and I flinched at her touch. "Good, you're looking better."

I mumbled something about heatstroke, trying to shake off the feeling of _not-real_ that hung about this whole encounter. I hadn't seen my mother in half a decade. Now she was here in front of me, taking care of me, no less, and I had to lie to her to make this inane scenario feasible. Somebody was going to pay for this.

"Mhmm," she said gently. "I'll bring you something to eat." She walked away, but stopped in the doorway. "By the way, you're grounded until you decide to tell the truth."

I shut my eyes, making a pained face. "Yeah," I said, and fell back onto my bed with a sigh.

* * *

I spent the next few days following my mother around like a hungry dog. Bahamut's words had unnerved me – I had a terrible feeling I was being given the chance to get closure on something I'd never really wanted to come to terms with. What I wanted to do was save her life, but I was faced with the rather enormous obstacle of never having found out how – or when she had died.

The day I got the news, my brother and I were working on a beach with Buddy, Keyakku and a few of Brother's other friends. The memory of this day is sharper than any of the others we spent on the mission, probably because I regard it as the last my life was ever really normal. It was morning; I was digging quite happily in a hole some six feet deep, bikini-clad but covered in wet sand and not at all the beach babe picture I envisioned I was. None of us were finding much, but we'd manage to extricate some metal bits and a few curious-looking spheres I was feeling rather giddy about, and on the side I was trying to get Buddy's attention. It was all very innocent and stupid and fifteen-year-old Brother was rolling his eyes and throwing wet sand clods at me when I got a little too obvious for him to tolerate.

It was nearly lunchtime when I heard a shout above me and Keyakku said he saw jetskis coming our way. I yelled at Brother to pull me up out of the hole, but he, being rather (understandably) tired of his twelve-year-old ham of a sister, pretended he didn't hear and ran off to see what all the commotion was about. I pouted for about five seconds and called him a few good names before plopping right back down and getting back to business – because, after all, left alone with the prospect of treasure, I could only be so annoyed.

My real surprise came about ten minutes later, when Brother returned. I remember I was all set to give him the bratty sister treatment, all cross-armed and scowly, when I craned my neck and saw the look on his face. There was nothing like that look in the world; how tired and pale he had become in _moments_… I felt my arms drop to my sides as I gaped at him. Buddy helped pull me out of the hole, but I remember I was so confused I barely noticed, clambering over the edge. I scrambled to my feet, fast as I could, and ran over to Brother, asking what was wrong. He didn't answer me, and I panicked, a horrible dread seeping into me. I yelled at him, demanding to know why he wasn't talking, and just as I was starting to become hysterical, I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I wasn't having any of that – I wanted answers from _Brother_, so help me – and I turned and slapped the figure before I realized that it was one of my uncles. I remember being horrified at what I had just done, but the fleeting shock of it quickly turned to terror when I saw pity in his eyes instead of anger. I think I tried to run then, but they wouldn't let me go and never before had I professed such litany as I spewed at them in my fear. I didn't want to hear it, I didn't want to know, but somewhere in the middle of it all my uncle was saying, "I'm sorry, Rikku, I'm sorry," and the most horrible words I had ever imagined made themselves known to me.

I remember a lot of yelling and flailing transpired then, and I'm fairly certain I bruised more than one male, but after a time I wore myself out and just cried. As Spirans, we were supposed to be strong, used to death, but as Al Bhed, I think I'd always thought we were above the worries of the Yevonites. Sin killed, but Sin didn't come to Bikanel. We mocked Yevonites, disrespected Maesters… we built a verifiable city out of forbidden machina – we were _formidable_, Yevon damn it. We were supposed to be safe.

I regard this as the pivotal moment when I realized exactly how many people died before their time in Spira – and I made a promise to myself and to my mother that I would find a way to save the ones who didn't need to die. Summoner's Sanctum, anyone? This was how it started. I mean, it was Pops' idea, but the Sanctum was a manifestation of the concept. I didn't think I could let more people go through this pain for a Calm that never lasted more than a decade. I grew up a lot in the time I spent with Yuna on her pilgrimage, and realized why they did it, but I never forgot my promise.

We started back that day, and by the time we'd reached Home again, I was older, strange as it sounds. I didn't cry anymore, and time seemed to pass in a daze for a while. My mother's body wasn't there when we returned; they'd had to have it Sent, of course, and I always felt it was very surreal after that. Bahamut had been right; I'd never had the chance to say goodbye, and while I'd accepted my mother was gone, I could never really believe it in my heart. I knew it wasn't going to happen, but a part of me thought that one day I'd pass her in the corridors or greet her on the airship. She was literally there one day, gone the next. I just couldn't grasp death when I'd never confronted it.

Pops didn't talk about it. I tried to do what I could for him, but it wasn't much; I wasn't her. Bringing up the matter seemed like a notoriously bad idea, and part of me didn't want to know anything about it. How had she died? Illness? An accident? I never asked; it was easier not knowing, somehow. If I didn't know, I never had to believe it, only accept it as the truth.

It was screwing me now, hard and fast. I knew she was going to die, but I had no idea how or when. The grounding, however, turned out to be a blessing in disguise, as I now had an excuse to bop around the place with no objective in mind. I would follow her, watching for signs of impending doom while I tried to decipher Bahamut's task. My incessant tailing invoked my mother's suspicion, but after a few days I think she actually came to enjoy it, despite the fact that she couldn't get me to explain Auron's mysterious presence.

He was fine, actually, kicking it in an entirely separate part of Home (Cid's orders – after all, I still refused to own up to knowing anything). I didn't get to see him at all for a number of days following my arrival, but I heard things, a lot of it relating to me and my apparently scandalous behaviour. There was a dull sense of urgency that surrounded me, as I realized Auron wasn't about to be made an honorary Al Bhed and would, therefore, be sent packing one of these days, but I had another feeling Bahamut wouldn't let that happen. The more I thought about it, the more I came to believe he was doing _something_ to manipulate Cid's heart, since I, knowing Pops as I did, knew it was monumentally more likely that his gut instinct would have been to put Auron on one of our sandmobiles and drop him in the middle of the desert just for coming near me. This apparently useful act did not lead me to hate the fayth any more, but it did not exactly lessen the burning dislove I was harboring for them, either.

Still, I was making little progress at "recovering" much of anything. All our items seemed exceedingly common, and I was beginning to doubt I was on the right track at all looking around Home when my mother unwittingly led me straight to Bahamut's coveted prize. It was a cruel trick of fate, I realized later, and in hindsight I understood why he had been so vague with me. Had I known why I needed to save it, and what from, I never would have been so easily manipulated.


	5. Of Death and Spheres

Disclaimer: No part of Square-Enix is mine.

* * *

**Like Death Warmed Over**

**Chapter 5**

I discovered quickly that I'd really missed out on a lot while I was off being young and adventurous. It'd never been me to sit around and watch, but age and experience had made me wiser and I was struck by all I _didn't_ know about technology, despite the fact that I'd been using and inventing machina more complex than these for years. I would have thought it laughable had anyone dared to suggest it just days ago, but I really had _learned_. While I'd been toeing the line of prodigious in my later years, my mother's thought processes were unorthodox to the point that they didn't seem to follow logic. I'd be lying if I said the ease with which she completed complex tasks didn't wound my ego at all, but I chose to take away what I could from the experience rather than drown myself in feelings of inferiority. I knew I looked twelve, and it seemed for all intents and purposes (whatever those were) I was going to stay that way, but the truth of the matter was that I found it difficult to follow her techniques even with my seventeen-year-old mind. It was all very surreal.

It was starting to hit me that I'd never really known my mother. Watching her work was like artistry, and the enthusiasm it brought her was so strikingly _like me_ that it was hard to believe I had failed to understand these things before. I was awed, but at the same time it was a rather rude awakening along the lines of, hey, Rikku, you were an ignoramus back then.

Actually, the learning made me feel more of an ignoramus than I ever could have imagined, but me being me derived quite a lot of enjoyment from the experience. I followed my mother around 24/7, taking great pains to savour and delight in whatever we were doing far more than I probably would have had I not been hoping that my lackadaisical behaviour would piss Bahamut off.

In these days, my sanity became a hot item for discussion as I was more frequently caught berating the omnipresent ass whether I was alone or not. Being already tied to the logically-inexplicable appearance of Auron, the new schizo personality didn't help my reputation and I became acutely aware that I was being talked about at every turn. It was a good thing I couldn't make myself care; I had bigger fish to fry.

The fayth weren't helping, either. I wasn't a fool; propitious as the escapade seemed, I was by no means under the impression that I was here for kicks and giggles. Bahamut controlled me, much as I utterly despised the fact, and my presence was perpetually intertwined with his mission. I doubted very much that it had anything to do with my mother's fate, but I vowed fervently that if he was going to make me his pawn, we were gonna play the game my way. Was I actually going to win- I somehow had a bad feeling about that one, but I sincerely hoped I'd find a way to cheat.

Bottom line – the clock was ticking, and I was wasting time. My mother's life was still hanging in the balance, despite my best efforts to avert the disaster, and I was livid at the complete lack of sympathy, help and direction the ubiquitous idiot (read: Bahamut) deigned to provide.

Remaining optimistic, I continued on with the plan as no better ideas implanted themselves in my mind. It was during the second week that things really started to get interesting. Like most significant events, this one started on a pretty normal day – well, or whatever you wanted to say about it; normal was probably a poor description given the circumstances. It was early morning, and I felt my preteen hormones kicking in with a fervour I found quite disgusting as my mother roused me for another day, much to my sleepy dissatisfaction.

After a few days of motherly disciplinary attitude over the (admittedly questionable) situation, she had rather seemed to warm up to my constant company and our relationship had begun to take on a different colour. Almost friendship-like, I had a feeling she had paradoxically begun to trust me in a new way. My appreciation for our new bond was admittedly lacking, however, as I felt the weight of my mattress shift as she sat down, shaking me awake with anachronistic energy. I responded with some random whiny mumbling and turned my back to her sleepily, but she wasn't having any of that.

"Riiiiiikku," she crooned, and I was sure even in my dormant mind that I did not like that tone. I stiffened, still refusing to open my eyes.

"…What."

She turned over, now kneeling next to me, bouncing. "IIIIII… have something you're gonna like," she said in a singsong voice.

I sighed. "Unless you've found a way to simulate Holy using machina, I don't wanna know for another-" I looked over my shoulder at the chocobo clock next to my bed. "…_Three-fifteen?_"

A slightly guilty look crossed her features. "Nevermind that, come see, come seeeeee!"

…And you thought _I_ was obnoxious.

I groaned, muttering some undecipherable curses to Bahamut and managed to roll out of bed, rubbing my eyes sleepily before turning them on my mother again. "Alright, alright, I'm up," I whined. "Are ya gonna tell me what's so important now?"

Her eyes shone as she took my hands, the picture of radiant excitement. "Time travel."

I blinked. "Yeaaaaah. Have you been sniffing motor oil or somethin'?"

She wagged a finger at me. "Of course not. I was asleep, and then it just came to me… and we're gonna make it happen, together!"

"It's not possible," I said skeptically, but part of me was intrigued, and the glow in her eyes seemed to contradict my logic.

"Or is it?" she said, and my lips parted as our gazes locked, and in a split second I had dashed across the room, rummaging in my clothes drawer. I grabbed the first thing I found, pulling it on quickly.

"Let's go," I said, reaching for shoes in a rush, and she turned and ran as I quickly yanked my finger out of the back of my sneaker, bouncing awkwardly after her for a few steps before my feet obliged me and settled into the soles. "Wait up, wait up!" I cried, ignoring that my screams were probably waking half of Home and feeling slightly vindictive in that knowledge as roundabout that statistic had made my blacklist the previous week.

She stopped for about half a second with a look more exasperated than any I ever gave my brother and then took off again, shouting, "Hurry up!"

I rolled my eyes and ran faster, lamenting the loss of my seventeen-year-old legs as she was still far ahead of me. We ran further, but as I streaked by the garages in which we'd spent the last few days, I was confused. "Mom, we passed-" I yelled as best I could through my sprint.

"Just follow me!" she said, pushing open a door quickly, and actually pausing to hold it for the few seconds it took me to catch up to her. I followed her hastily down a spiraling set of stairs that, as far as I knew, led to not much but a bunch of control systems. I had no idea why we were here, and I said so.

"There's nothing to work with down here," I cried as we ran down a long corridor lined with doors.

"That's what you think!" she said, voice full of delight. She stopped dead right at the end of the hallway and I nearly slammed straight into her as a result of the lack of warning.

"Mo-om," I whined, slumping over with my hands on my knees to catch my breath. "What… are we doing here?"

She didn't answer, chewing on her lower lip as she ran her palm over the blank wall, her fingertips seeming to search for something. After a few seconds, her hand stopped and she pressed her whole palm against the surface. I stared with wide eyes as a small square glowed blue at her touch, numerical markings appearing where her hand had activated. She tapped out a sequence, and to my amazement, the wall slid aside at its corner, revealing a large chamber. I gaped.

"What is this?" I asked breathlessly.

She smiled deviously. "My lab."

I walked inside. "…_Rumo cred_."

"Rikku!"

I'd forgotten my age. "Uh, I mean…" I gave up trying to find synonyms for profanity as I gazed around in wonder. "Holy…"

It was brilliant. Higher-tech than anything I'd ever seen, enough curious machina to keep me occupied until I aged naturally back to seventeen, and ingeniously concealed. I noted straight off that the ceiling was almost twice as high as a normal room's; it reached past the floor above. Some quick calculations brought the realization that the rest of Home had to have literally been built around it. I tried to picture where we were in relation to the ground floor and decided the extra height was probably accounted for by the addition of a most likely unnecessary staircase. The lab had been designed to never be discovered. It was orgasmic; the most beautiful trick of engineering and architecture I had ever seen.

"You're drooling, Rikku." Her voice broke through my daydreams.

"Probably," I agreed, refusing to remove my eyes from the lovely sight. "How didn't I know about this?"

"Becaaaaause," she said, drawing out the word, "Nobody knows about this, except me and your dad."

I managed to stop staring at the machina long enough to give her a look of pure confusion. "That doesn't make sense," I argued. "This place was built in collab by us, how could you keep somethin' like this a secret?"

"Wasn't hard. Just drew the blueprints around it."

My eyes roved the large space. "Yevon _tysh ed_, you're a _vil_- uh, fricking genius."

She ignored my language and sighed contentedly. "Yep, this is _all_ mine."

"I kinda believe you about that time travel thing after seeing this…"

"Yeah, about that," she said, and walked across the room to something that was probably a desk at some point but currently closer resembled a large trash heap. She yanked a notebook out from under some greasy machina parts and somehow extracted a pen amidst the chaos, biting on the (I couldn't help but think _unsanitary_) end of it thoughtfully, before beginning to sketch and write. The pen scratched furiously for some time; she eventually gravitated toward a chair and sat down in it, still working. I was more than pleased to give her the time as I was itching to examine several especially intriguing machina in exact detail.

About halfway through an inspection of one curious model whose complex inner workings quite aroused my interest, I heard the drop of a pen nearby and looked up to see my mother beaming at her workbook page. "Done?" I asked, and set the machina down, walking over to her to see what she'd devised.

She nodded, still staring at her work. "It's so simple, I can't believe I never thought of it."

I raised an eyebrow at her, taking the notebook from her hands and studying her notes. There were pages upon pages, but I read through carefully, my eyes growing wider and wider as the calculations and diagrams began to fit together. "Yevon, this is…" I couldn't find words as my eyes pored over the writing.

"Isn't it easy?" she implored incredulously.

I nodded, though I knew I couldn't have worked it out myself. "Amazing! It's practically _spelled out_ in the physics. I can't believe- those Yevonites are idiotic! Imagine where Spira'd be if they'd spent less time praying and more time trying to solve their own problems! _Rumo cred_," I swore in disbelief, my face a picture of awe.

My mother seemed to be in a science-induced ecstasy, as she didn't bat an eyelash at my mouth. "I think we can do it, Rikku!" she cried.

"What are we waiting for?" I replied eagerly, and she grasped my hands.

"We're going to make history… Yevon, this is gonna change Spira!"

I had no idea how successfully or even if the idea would come to fruition, but as we set to work at the crack of dawn, I could scarcely remember being more excited about anything.

For the next few days, my mother and I ate, slept and breathed our project. It wasn't a time machine, per se; what she had devised was a much simpler concept: a time _sphere_. We'd had a time finding an appropriate vessel, but on my own suggestion, ironically, we'd decided to try altering a regular lightning-based sphere, like the ones I'd seen in Djose on Yuna's pilgrimage. After all, science dictated that nothing could move faster than the speed of light, so we hoped to manipulate the advantage of having that kind of contained energy to serve our purposes.

It wasn't easy. We'd work for hours on end, forgetting to eat and sleeping, most nights, in the lab. Pops knew what we were doing, but from what I'd heard when I snuck off to the kitchens at odd hours to grab food, there were rumours flying around left and right about me. The nicest claimed I'd run away; the rest involved Auron – I'll leave the details to your imagination. For Yevon's sake, I was twelve – it was disturbing! But I digress; public opinion couldn't have been further down on my list of priorities at the moment anyway.

Another week passed, and my mother and I were making progress. Somehow our minds had seemed to meld together in a singular train of thought, and as we tinkered we had no trouble trading off and trying something a different way, until finally we had a product we considered close to functional. We were so close to success we could almost taste it, and my amazement at the rapidity with which it had come ceased to fade as we drew nearer to our goal. As excited as I was, however, part of me didn't want to finish the time sphere. I associated it, though I never quite thought it all the way through, with the end of my time in the past, with my mother. It was a strange sense, somewhere simultaneously in the pit of my stomach and the back of my mind, that pricked me almost subconsciously every so often. I didn't know how to verbalise the feeling, but it was there, and it made me uneasy.

I also had not completely forgotten, though I did temporarily through my preoccupation more often than was respectable, that Bahamut had not been so ambiguous when he had hinted that my mother's death was imminent. It was heart-wrenching now more than ever, and I resented the fayth for their cruel game, only hoping that I wouldn't have to be there if and when it… happened.

Roughly three weeks after we'd begun, we triumphed. Our prototype was a thing of beauty, we'd checked and rechecked, tweaked and redone our work until both of us worked on the time sphere in our dreams, its mathematics refusing to leave our minds. We were euphoric, but nervous. We knew we would have to test the sphere, but the prospect made us anxious. One small calculation error could spell disaster, and I was adamant that my mother should have nothing to do with the very first experiment. She didn't know that it posed no threat to me, of course, and I comforted myself with that knowledge as we prepared ourselves for the first trial. She was by no means pleased that I should have all the fun of testing dangerous machina, but I literally threw a fit when she tried to argue. Hey, whatever it took. I was not about to enable her death.

We tested it in the afternoon, and we agreed that it was a notoriously bad idea to try to go anywhere uh, exciting, on the test run. My mother spent what seemed like hours reminding me of how everything worked, clearly having forgotten that I'd helped build the thing. I configured the sphere to a mere ten minutes into the past, my mother sighed and watched me somewhat wistfully, and I activated the device.

It was a wrenching sort of feeling, of flying yet simultaneously being rooted to the ground, and I was paralysed the whole time. I was glad I mostly breathed out of habit, because the sphere squished all the air right out of me for a few seconds, and then it was over, and I stood in a secluded corner of the lab precisely, as the small interface on the sphere indicated, ten minutes ago. Making sure I was hidden from view, I peeked from behind a table and saw myself looking rather exasperated as my mother fretted about how this and that should go and what to expect. It wasn't a particularly on-par description, but then, it wasn't as if either of us had ever done it before. I waited a few minutes, not particularly wanting to confront my past self (who knew what kind of rips in the fabric of time and space that could cause), and watched myself disappear with surreal wonder. When I had gone, I stepped out from where I had hidden.

"Well, that worked," I said, feeling shocked as I approached my mother.

"Yes, I knew it would," she said distractedly, her features contorted slightly with an expression of worry as she stared at something across the room.

I frowned. "I thought you'd be more excited."

She waved me off, running over to a control panel on the wall. I heard her swear violently, and I knew something was wrong. "Rikku, take the sphere and get out of here."

"What?" I asked, my stomach sinking with fear.

"The sphere's energy release – probably because we chose to use the lightning sphere – has put the electromagnetic pulse radiation levels in here through the roof," she explained quickly, pressing buttons and tripping the switches like a madwoman. "I'm afraid it's gonna fry every piece of machina in Home – ooh, this is not good. Get the sphere and get out – we can't afford to lose it!"

I hesitated. "Is it safe?" I asked fearfully.

"I don't know. It's not gonna do any good standing there, though, so just do as I say!" she yelled at me, and I knew I didn't have much choice. I didn't know what I could do to fix the problem, and as I looked around I saw some of the machina already beginning to malfunction and spark from the stress of the invisible pulsing energy.

"Mom, I-"

"Rikku, go!" she cried, and I, torn between my self-appointed duty as her protector and the overwhelming feeling of helplessness that had enveloped me as I watched her try to shut the systems down, squeaked involuntarily.

"Only if you come, too!" I replied, but she wasn't having it.

"If I can't shut the C.P. down, we're all done for! Tell your father!"

I screamed in frustration and ran to find Pops. I rushed to the upper levels where I figured he'd be and was surprised, though I didn't greatly appreciate the timing, to find Auron there, talking to him. I had more pressing matters to worry myself over than what was going on between the two of them, however, and wasted no time in saying so. "Pops, Mom needs help, something went wrong!" The words had no sooner left my mouth than he brushed past me, taking off down the hall quickly. I threw the time sphere at Auron. "Take this and get out of here," I said. "I've gotta go help my mom."

He looked at me. "If your mother is in trouble, I'll accompany you," he said, but I shook my head furiously.

"You don't understand! You gotta get that thing as far away from here as possible! Just do it!" He didn't look pleased to take orders from a 12-year-old, but he nodded and I breathed for half a second before running off, back down to the lab.

When I arrived, my dead heart stopped.

Everything was silent, an eerily symbolic mirror of the stillness in which my mother lay. She was on the floor, glassy-eyed, and Pops knelt beside her, his ear to her chest. The significance of the scene struck me all at once; my failure, the reality of her death, finally confronting me, the fayth's game. It was too much. My heart was dead, but my soul felt the break inside. It was my end-all, or it would have been, if Bahamut hadn't intervened.

I choked and screamed, but my cries went unnoticed, echoing in my mind only as the world began to shift and twist and the terrible picture faded from my view as I felt my body go weightless, my brain not comprehending but somehow knowing that this was the fayth's plan all along.

I was floating, flying, but my eyes dripped with tears; I couldn't stop. My misery was overwhelming, unbearable, indescribable. I sobbed shamelessly as Bahamut materialised before me again.

"Do not waste your tears, child."

I glared at him angrily through water-blurred eyes. "You did this! You made me live this, you sick bastard!"

He stared at me stoically. "All humans die, Rikku. Some die young, some die old. But very few die before their time, and your mother is not among those."

I had no response to that, and stood there crying extremely uncomfortably.

"It seems cruel, but you are too distraught at the current moment to understand why it had to be so. I ask that you bear with me a while longer, and yes," he added, that distasteful bored expression on his face, "the request is a courtesy."

Tears streamed down my cheeks. "I hate you so much," I said, but I lacked the energy to fight with him further.

"Sleep now, child, and when you wake, all will be healed."

I had no idea what that meant, but a heaviness settled over me, and I fell into a deep slumber.


	6. Resurrection

Disclaimer: I'm still poor and don't own anything.

* * *

**Like Death Warmed Over**

**Chapter 6**

When I awoke, I was alone; I felt strangely serene. I didn't understand why I no longer felt like crying, or why the recall of my recent experience brought me only a dull ache I'd grown to associate with loss over the years. The unbearable pain could not be remembered, as if years had passed since the incident. This mindfuck of the fayth annoyed me, despite the fact that it was admittedly better than coping naturally.

"I don't like being manipulated," I said angrily, knowing that I could not possibly be so fortunate to actually _be_ alone.

As I expected, Bahamut appeared in front of me, chuckling. "I have done you a favour, Rikku," he said, and I replied with the nastiest facial expression I could produce.

"Oh, how rude of me," I spat. "I thank you, oh great one, for injecting my soul with a fucking shot of _morphine!_"

"Must you always be so vulgar?" he questioned drily.

I scoffed. "I just watched my mother die," I retorted, "and you want _praise_." I did so wish to maim him, but as it were, words were my only weapon, and wield them I would, deaf though he seemed.

"You have two ears and one mouth. Consider why that may be," said Bahamut, disaffected as ever.

I smirked, my eyes deadly. "So I can ignore you twice as rudely."

"Clever," he replied, and I swore I saw his eyes twitch upward for half a second. "However, I do not have all the time in the world, so I must ask for your cooperation." I made a face, but shrugged resignedly. "You must be wondering why you have been brought through this," he continued.

I pretended to be shocked. "_No,_" I drawled. He stared at me, and I let out an annoyed "tch," but said no more.

"Unfortunately, I cannot fully enlighten you at this time."

_What else is new,_ I thought, biting my tongue.

"However, I am sure you have questions."

My cue. I gave him a sickeningly sweet, close-lipped smile, my eyes obnoxiously wide in a mocking impression of attentiveness.

"Rikku," he warned.

"What?" I asked innocently. "I'm _listening._"

He fixed on me a stony expression so unnerving that even my will, in all its indignant obstinacy, wavered. I lowered my eyes, chewing on my lip. "It was that sphere," I said, without looking at him.

In my peripheral vision, I saw him nod. "Indeed. The time sphere. It was an ingenious creation, but not for the Al Bhed."

I stiffened. "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. He was laughing at my mother's death!

"Calm yourself, Rikku," he answered, maddeningly zen. "The problem with the sphere was not inherent to the sphere itself, but rather its setting. That is what I meant."

I blinked. "I don't get it, and the ambiguity's getting old."

"Home," he replied simply. "The only machina-operated base in all of Spira, aside from Bevelle. Anywhere else, the sphere is benign, with nothing around that it can adversely affect."

My face contorted with a strange variety of expressions. "Oh," I said as his point sunk in. I wanted to yell at him, but I knew, despite how I wished it weren't so, that it wasn't his fault. My mother was determined; nothing would have stopped her from completing the sphere, and if neither of us had foreseen the danger it posed then nothing could have altered the course of fate. It hurt, whatever the fayth had done to heal the pain of the event. But, loathe as I was to credit Bahamut with much of anything, it gave me a sense of closure over my mother's death. It was her time. It wasn't fair or easy to get over, but it was- heh. It was Spira; that same spiral of death and suffering, unbroken for a thousand years. Until Yuna. And… me.

There was pain and peace in resolution. Through it came acceptance, something that had been withheld from me for the last five years. The pain made the understanding terrible. But the peace, I knew, would make it tolerable. When all the pieces fit into place, forward progress could occur. Those pieces had finally been given to me, and I felt emotional, with too many feelings accumulated to centre on one. Yet it was there – I felt it – peace.

Bahamut had not said a word. Our gazes locked, and my mind went strangely blank as I stared into his eyes, as if he had bewitched me. After some seconds had passed mindlessly, I wrenched myself away from the serene abyss into which he seemed to have sucked my psyche and tore my eyes away from his. "Why was it so important?" I asked, looking at the ground, slightly unnerved.

He being who he was in all his annoying fayth glory was not derailed by my lack of specificity. "This is the beginning," he replied calmly. "That was the prelude." I stared, hoping my confusion and waning tolerance for such explanations could be transferred telepathically, and maybe they could, for he continued, "Your real mission is in a time further into your own past. That sphere was essential to transportation to that era."

"But I don't have the sphere," I argued. "I gave it to Auron."

"Yes," he agreed. "And I have ensured he knows what to do with it. It is my business to see that you arrive satisfactorily by my own doing."

"If it was that easy – that you could just knock us out and warp our disturbingly animated corpses wherever you wanted us, why'd you need the sphere?" I asked. "Couldn't you have done the same with Auron?"

"No," he replied. "The reason the sphere is essential, Rikku, is because after you arrive at your destination, neither you nor Auron will be dead in the sense that I can _warp_ you anywhere." He emphasised the word distastefully, as though he did not appreciate the illusion that his godly powers could be referenced in such a common way.

"Okay…" Even putting aside the fact that he'd basically implied my deadness was an issue of contemplation, I still didn't get it. "That's _after_ we get there, though, right? Why's it matter now?"

"At that point, the fact will apply to both of you; at the current moment, it is true only for Auron. You, therefore, are the simultaneously simpler and more difficult entity to transport."

"I thought you said you didn't have all the time in the world," I said, dully. "'Cause you sure are taking your time with these answers."

He graced me with another disturbingly soul-staring gaze before responding. "As I have just hinted, the fayth can only move the dead. Auron is no longer dead, and neither will you be when you arrive."

I stared. "You're _resurrecting_ me?"

"In a sense, yes. At the moment, you exist as an Unsent, no more. And it is not, before you ask, the result of a failure on the part of the Al Bhed to Send you. Sent pyreflies are drawn to the Farplane unless, as you may have gathered from your prior knowledge of Auron, the fayth manipulate them elsewhere. Your soul, therefore, lacks the instability associated with those Unsent who become fiends, due to your Sending; however, you are not _actually_ alive."

"Well, thank you for clearing that up," I said bitterly. "I feel _so_ much better now."

"Patience!" he said. "It is a virtue; learn it. That is your _current_ state. When you leave this place, it will alter, and you will join Auron in a state of full life. This is a very complicated situation. The fayth can resurrect, but doing so comes at the cost of another life. Thus, as you can imagine, we do not do it very often. What we have done in this case could be considered a bending of the rules."

I considered that. I was going to be brought back to a state of legitimate… aliveness – that thought was certainly positive enough, but as with all things that seemed too good to be true, there was a catch. Somebody had had to die- my mouth went dry. "My mother?"

He nodded. For a split second, I wanted to attempt to strangle him, futile as I knew it would be, but my newfound understanding of the necessity of my mother's death stopped me. That was to have been, no matter what – hadn't I just deduced that? This was what he'd been referring to in saying the fayth were bending the rules. They hadn't exactly taken a life in the case of my mother – they'd simply utilised her death, and oh, how it had worked to their advantage. It left a bad taste in my mouth – I didn't like the idea of the fayth fucking around with my mother's peaceful departure, but I knew deep down that it was an emotional response to a very simple logic problem. I looked at Bahamut with a resigned, if slightly displeased, expression.

"And Auron's…?" I asked the question tentatively, with the sinking feeling that I already knew.

"Yours."

For a moment, I thought about asking whether this had been in the same vein of resourcefulness as my mother's death. The idea that it may not have been deterred me. If the fayth had killed me to bring Auron back from the grave, I didn't really want to know. A rather pained look graced my features and I shut my eyes with a groan. "Shiiiiit…"

I opened my eyes after a few seconds and glared at him. "I _really_ hate being manipulated. Like, I know I said I didn't like it before, but I really. Fucking. Hate it."

"There are over 200,000 words in both the Spiran and Al Bhed languages; could you not find a less profane way to express yourself?" he inquired disdainfully.

I snorted, shaking my head in disbelief. "Y'know, it's funny, but eloquency is not really the most pressing concern of mine at the moment. I know that must seem really strange to you, Mr. More-Cryptic-Than-A-Book-Of-Riddles, but I'm pretty caught up in the fact that you seem to think my life- or death- or whatever the hell state of limbo I'm in- is just a game to be discussed as flippantly as Sunday brunch!"

"It was simply a question," he replied. "And I apologise."

I rolled my eyes, waving a hand in dismissal. "My mother didn't like my language either; forget it."

"I was referring to manipulating you."

My head snapped up. "Really?" I asked incredulously. "…Why." It lacked the intonation of a question; I wondered what he expected to achieve by admitting such a thing. Not that I didn't already know that he was, but it was not my experience that those who used others to achieve a particular end were too keen on owning up to it.

"Because I am sorry that you had no choice in the matter."

"Oh." I wasn't quite sure what to say to that. _It's okay?_ It… wasn't really _okay_, per se, it was simply a reality that I was going to have to grasp. Realism was sometimes the only operative strategy one could employ – this was definitely one of those times. I didn't much want to think about all the reasons I could hate Bahamut at the moment, because I knew that doing so would only make me angry while it wouldn't, on the other hand, change a damn thing.

My pride had become virtually nonexistent, in this sense. Before, I had been fighting tooth and nail to somehow best Bahamut in his own game just to convince myself that I still had some say over my own life- er, afterlife. At this point, I knew I may as well admit it; Bahamut was orchestrating everything that was happening to me, and if he didn't want me to win, I was not about to. I simply accepted it – begrudgingly – but I accepted it, because it _was_.

"However, I believe that you may determine this fate to be rather better than the alternative," he suggested, breaking my train of thought.

"Meaning… death?" I asked.

He shrugged. "The Farplane, yes."

I sighed. "I am pretty young to be settling down that permanently, I guess," I admitted, half-heartedly joking.

"You'll see," he said, again cryptically.

"Which, I take it, means you have no plans to inform me exactly what it is me and Gramps are supposed to do on this little mission of yours," I replied, figuring that there was no point in beating around the bush. Bahamut and I were on a pretty need-to-know basis, meaning that he knew everything that went through my mind and I knew what he decided to verbalise in the rare moments he appeared in my presence.

A small smile played around his lips. "I think it would be infinitely easier to show, rather than tell, you. However, I will say that this will be the last time we meet like this for some time."

"What?" I asked. "What if I need to know something?"

He chuckled. "Do not worry, Rikku, all will become clear in time." He began fading from my view and I knew what was coming. I swore as my head began to fog for what seemed like the hundredth time since I'd died.

My last thought before I fell unconscious was that Bahamut was really intent on teaching me patience.

* * *

I awoke to the sound of a voice saying my name. No – it didn't seem so declarative as it did questioning, and I blearily wondered why that was. It took me a few seconds to equate the soothing deep voice with its paradoxically anything-but owner. I opened my eyes, snapping my head around to stare at the figure in front of me. "Auron?" I asked dumbly, staring for a few seconds before the picture fit together. He'd made it here with the time sphere… my mother was a genius.

"Rikku?" he studied me with an expression, that, even through his trained stoic countenance, looked positively shocked.

I stared back, my face falling into a frown and my breaths becoming involuntarily shallow as my muscles tensed. "What?" I asked fearfully, half expecting him to tell me there was an angry Coeurl behind me set to pounce. Well, no, it wouldn't be a Coeurl; those only lived in the Calm Lands, and from what I could tell, we weren't anywhere near the Calm Lands – this looked positively like Macalania. Maybe a Chimera, then, those were quite nasty. But then, it wasn't like Auron to just stop and stare at a fiend; he was all about the action, shouldering his inhumanly large katana like it weighed less than I did (it didn't) effortlessly. Auron wasn't an observer. I began wondering if I'd slept in Iguion dung or something.

When he didn't answer immediately, I glanced behind me in a flash to dispel the Chimera theory and then turned my irritated expression back on him. _"What?"_ I repeated, my tone taking on an edge of annoyance.

His face turned stony; he wasn't pleased. "Look at yourself."

My face fell. "No. You can't be serious," I replied, refusing to do as he said. "Not again. And- and you look the same!" I was terrified of what I would discover, but the more my voice rose with my denials the more I could hear a distinctive childish pitch in my syllables. I let out an ungodly sigh and looked at my body begrudgingly.

"_BAHAMUT YOU SICK MOTHER-!"_ I screamed so loudly a flock of birds scattered from the surrounding trees. This, in retrospect, was an inherently terrible idea. Fiends, after all, weren't deaf, and the nasty buggers had never seemed to care about my emotional state during a battle. Anger wasn't about to keep them away from a little snacky kill- oh, I _would_ make that pun.

Little. I sure was. By the looks of me, I had barely graduated toddlerhood. The only deluded reason I could think of that Bahamut could have had for turning me this far back biologically was that my physical state was once again reflecting its small-Rikku counterpart back Home.

It was not an inspiring deduction.

Auron looked murderous. "Do you ever think before you act?" he chastised me, I thought, too roughly.

"Easy for you to say!" I retorted angrily. "What do the stupid fayth make you – young and hot! And what do I get? Prepubescence and now infancy!"

He raised an eyebrow at that – at what bit of it I wasn't keen to know. I hadn't meant to vocalise my thoughts on his… altered appearance, but since I had, I simply rolled my eyes and refrained from commenting further. I assumed he could take it as a compliment and not press the subject. He _was_ Auron, after all. You know, Mr. Maturity. Well, he was hot. It wasn't like it was a secret. He'd even been somewhat attractive in grandpa-land, where I'd met him, though I wasn't about to even think about that. It certainly didn't make me feel any less of an idiot. I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Well, y'know. Point is, I got the raw end of the deal, so would you just ease up?" I crossed my arms.

"I don't know what you suggest we do when your racket brings every fiend in Spira here after us."

I pouted indignantly. "I'd figured that much out myself, thanks," I said. _"Sorr-ee."_

He didn't say anything, which made me feel worse because I knew I'd messed up. "Why d'ya think we're here, anyway?"

"You seem slightly more informed than I – not surprisingly so, I might add, with your propensity for asking questions. However, if I were to make an observation, I would say that your age seems to reflect the time."

"Yeah," I agreed. "How old d'ya figure I am now?"

"Four, maybe five," he replied, I noted, unenthusiastically.

I tapped my chin with a finger thoughtfully. "Well, let's see. Key moments in my life… I died at seventeen, I was fifteen on Yuna's pilgrimage, we just relived my fabulous life at age twelve, I burned a Yevonite temple at six- KIDDING," I reassured him in response to the deathly glare he shot me. "Have a sense of humour… alright, so it wasn't funny, shut up. Anyway, now I'm… four." I sighed. "I dunno. Unless Bahamut's trying to de-age me back to utero, I'm lost."

Auron seemed to have thought of something, however. "You were fifteen on Yuna's pilgrimage?" he repeated, and I nodded. His face became dark. "Then we have gone back to either before Braska's Calm, or right after it began."

I nodded grimly, unaware of how silly I probably looked in all my childish innocence. I had more than an idea which he thought it was, but I wasn't about to voice the thought. As much of a slap in the face our little trek back Home had been for me, he had to be feeling a hell of a lot worse right now. I made a mental note to try to tone down my "annoying" factor for the time being. This would have been a lot more easily accomplished if I had not suddenly shrieked, feeling something sharp and burning sink into me. I turned quickly, realising it was just a common Wasp, but it was about as benign to my five-year-old self as an enraged Behemoth.

Auron was hardly any better off than I. No, don't get me wrong, I didn't think that he was really in any great danger from something as annoying as a Wasp. However, as I felt the familiar tinge of nausea sweep over me, I realised that, despite the fact that my brain was just as functional and developed as it had ever been, my body was weak. Physically, I had pretty much the strength of a small child in battle – and, at the moment, the small child was poisoned, and neither of us had weapons or antidotes, or much of anything that would help us. I staggered to my feet. "Auron, find something to throw at it," I cried as I eyed the Wasp's movements. Praying for luck and speed, I dashed forward, avoiding the prick of its stinger as I closed my hand around a small bottle on the wrong side of the fiend. _Bahamut, this'd better be an antidote,_ I thought hard as I fled the attack of the Wasp, prize in tow.

Whether Bahamut took my threat to heart or I'd collected one too many luck spheres over the years, I glanced at my stolen treasure with a satisfied smirk. Doubling over as another wave of pain hit me, I quickly popped the top and chugged, feeling the nauseating effect of the poison begin to ebb away. I looked up. The fiend was still buzzing around angrily. "Auron, not to be a pain, but can you KILL this thing already?" I screamed, scrambling to my feet and dashing away again. It followed me with aggravating persistence, and I shrieked, running in circles, and wishing, wishing, wishing I had a weapon, or even half a weapon, hell, anything to keep the thing _away_ from me.

"Duck, Rikku," Auron barked at me, and I obliged, dropping to the ground quickly as I could and covering my head with my arms. Something large and grey flew over my head and smashed with quite a sickening crunch into the Wasp behind me. I panted as pyreflies began to escape and circle around my head.

"Thanks," I said, resting my head on my knees.

He grunted in reply, and I sat there for a few moments trying to catch my breath. "Well," I said finally, "I guess we know we're both alive."

The cracking of branches in the distance cut any response he might have had off before it began. "Rikku, go hide behind something big," he said, and I nodded, pushing myself up off the ground and running to peek from behind a tree. I hated being so useless, but without any sort of weapon and all the physical endurance of a five-year-old, I was just that. Face the facts; this was survival of the fittest. We didn't have any Phoenix Downs and I wasn't in love with the idea of dying _again,_ so I was stuck playing the coward until we could figure something better out.

Auron stood looking in the direction of the disturbance, and I wondered why, when the _whatever-it-was_ was causing such a commotion and didn't seem to be getting any further away, he wouldn't rather try to avoid conflict, seeing as we were limited to large rocks for weapons. As the seconds ticked away, however, I saw him relax just slightly before stiffening up again as I made out the outline of two figures coming in our direction.

Leaning further around my tree, I gasped and lost my balance as I recognised my uncle, somersaulting awkwardly into plain view next to Auron with a whiny, "Owww…"

I looked up, rubbing my head and locked eyes with the strangers. "Heeey, Uncle Braska."

* * *

**A/N: This fic has been on hiatus for about 2 years now. It's staying up because I'm proud of what it is, but I'm not sure if I'm going to update it again. Thank you to all who have read and enjoyed it. Maybe I'll come back to it someday.**


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